


The Times I Saw You

by NoblehouseofTargaryen (Captain_Shep)



Series: The Times I Saw You [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cullen's POV, Ellandra Trevelyan - Freeform, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Haven, Romance, Romanced Cullen, Skyhold, To Romance, commander cullen - Freeform, pre romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3561476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Shep/pseuds/NoblehouseofTargaryen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the times Cullen has seen Ellandra Trevelyan, and his thoughts during those times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

i.

The first time he sees her, she’s unconscious.

Cullen follows behind Leliana quietly, nodding back as his soldiers salute him when he passes. Leliana motions towards the door towards the prison where the woman they’d found emerged from the fade was being kept. Cullen steps forward to yank open the heavy wooden door, the soldiers stationed inside jumping at the sudden noise, then stilling as they see their Commander.

Leliana steps in after him, standing with her hands clasped at the threshold of the door, lips pursed as her eyes rake over the prisoner. Cullen’s jaw clenches as his eyes sweep over the woman’s form. She’s strung from the ceiling by heavy chains, head dipped forward onto her chest as she breathes harshly.

“She’s been asleep for two days now, Solas has been studying her – studying the mark, but hasn’t found anything yet.” Leliana speaks, her voice echoing throughout the dank chamber. Cullen hums, curiosity piquing as he steps closer to her, seeing the bright emerald mark glittering against her palm.

He’s finally close enough to see her face, his eyes scanning over her sharp features as a blush rises up onto his cheeks. She’s absolutely lovely, her long eyelashes fluttering across high cheekbones as she dreams, plump lips pursing as she mutters through her sleep, her long nose scrunching as a burst of pain flickers from her palm. His eyes meet the long jagged scar that cuts across her cheek and down to her jaw bone, its deep and he knows by the matching scar along her long, sloped neck that it caused her a large amount of pain.

Another flash bursts from her palm, the emerald hue lighting up the room. She whimpers in pain, her eyes fluttering open ever so slightly to reveal ice blue eyes, tinged with darker shades of blue. He feels his heart clench at her pain, he knows what it is to be trapped, to have pain be all that is felt, the only thing you know for days on end.

He turns to Leliana, watching as her eyebrow rises at his pink cheeks. “Take her down, keep the shackles on, but it’s doing no good for her condition to string her up like a butchered hog.” He says, motioning towards the soldiers standing against the back wall. A knowing smirk curves up on Leliana’s lips, but he merely scoffs at her antics and waves her off.

The soldiers immediately step forward, loosening the chains around the woman’s wrists. She’s lowered to the floor, body crumpling in a heap as her arms are relieved of the strain of holding up her body weight. He winces as the shackles move, revealing wrists rubbed raw by the iron.

With a sigh he kneels down beside her, moving a lock of auburn hair away from her eyes, watching closely as her eyelids flutter again. He huffs, punishing himself inwardly for being such a fool around a pretty woman, she was a prisoner for makers sake!

He pushes himself up to stand, brushing past Leliana, who’s still smirking with her arms crossed.

Blasted Spymaster and her keen eyes.

ii.

The second time he sees her is in the heat of battle, one moment he’s fending off a groaning shade, blood spattered across his shield and his cheeks, chest heaving with the exertion of endless battle. The next the shade he’s fighting is thrown away from him by a massive fireball. He flinches at the magic, his eyes instantly snapping up to meet hers.

His heart leaps into his chest when he sees her.

Her auburn hair has been piled atop her head, a few stray curls hanging against her cheeks as she whirls, staff spinning effortlessly as she throws another fireball towards the shade he’s fighting off. The fire swaths her in radiant light, her hair glowing bright, like a halo around her stunning blue eyes, narrowed in concentration as she forces the shade back, growling as it advances on her.

She blocks its hits quickly, grunting with exertion as its hands wrap around her staff. She grits her teeth, using her strength to fling it to the side, spinning her staff to catch the shade with the sharp blade on the end of her staff.

Hot blood sprays from the wound, spattering across her face in a bright crimson swath of gore. She winces at the feeling and wipes her hand across her forehead. He turns as another shade advances on him, growling as he runs forward, bashing his shield into the demon and throwing it away.

He misses the rift snapping closed behind him, only turns at the sound of the tear snapping closed again, the resounding crack echoing through his ears. Relief floods his body, and he begins to hope for an end to this madness.

“You closed it!” He calls to Cassandra, who turns and strides to him, a wry look written over her face.

“Actually, the prisoner closed it.” Cassandra gestures behind her towards the tall auburn haired woman, staring at him in trepidation. “Commander Cullen, meet Ellandra Trevelyan.” He tries to keep the blush off his face as he reaches his hand out, her smaller one extending towards him.

A crackling shot of magic darts between them as their hands connect, and he feels the magic pulsing through her body. What little of the Templar in him remains instantly bristles, feeling his pull towards the Lyrium. Her hand instantly snaps back as if she’s been burnt, eyes turning harsh and cold as she glares at him, they each know what the other is, polar opposites on a battlefield as wide as Thedas, he feels his hope crumble as she narrows her eyes at him, her words already turning harsh.

Cassandra throws him an apologetic glance, and he nods resolutely, refusing to let something so small compromise his ability to lead, to be the Commander the Inquisition deserves. He watches her go, the steady set of her shoulders, as if the entire weight of the world had bowed down upon her, and she had caught it, holding it above her with a grace he’d never seen in any human before.

He was intrigued, he had been since he’d seen her hanging in the dungeons, the scars across her cheek and neck spoke of unimaginable torture, and he was willing to bet that her body was riddled with them. She was a circle mage, it was the whole reason she’d recoiled – she knew the feeling of a Templar’s power hidden beneath the skin.

He sighs, turning to grab a soldier who’s limping, throwing his arm around his shoulder without too much effort, nodding when the man smiles gratefully up at him.

iii.

The third time he sees her it’s barely a glance.

He knows it’s her by the long fiery curls that lay over Cassandra’s arm, almost hitting the ground as Cassandra carries her limp body through Haven. His heart sinks into his chest, thinking that they’d lost the only hope of survival, so soon after she’d saved them all and stabilised the breach.

Cassandra calls out for a healer, and he breathes a sigh of relief, feeling lighter than he has in a while. She’s merely unconscious, as she was the first time, the mark on her hand pulling every ounce of energy and mana she has from her body, leaving her limp.

He makes to go after Cassandra, to take Ellandra’s exhausted body from her, but the image of her untrusting, narrowed eyes flashes in his mind and he stops, resigning himself to simply watch from afar as the healers rush out to take her body.

Her hand slips from her stomach as they take her, hanging limp in the frigid air. He watches, entranced at the glowing of the mark upon her palm, imagining salvation at last.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellandra begins to trust Cullen

iv.

The Fourth time he sees her, he hears the crowd’s cries for her before his eyes finally come to rest on her. The citizens of Haven cry out as soon as they catch a glimpse of her, whispering to each other about the mark on her hand, the blessing of Andraste herself given to the woman before them.

She glances about curiously as she walks her stance guarded and ready to leap into action at a second. He feels his heart clench at the display, knowing her untrusting nature is the cause of her time within the Circle. He feels anger at that, knowing that he had been one of the men who had unwittingly caused such numbing destruction to a number of mages.

She rounds the corner and sees them standing at the top of the steps, Cassandra waiting for her at the bottom. Her expression softens when she sees Cassandra, and for a second she loses all hardness to her, she finally looks her age, her expression unguarded and full of trust as Cassandra nods to her.

He sees Ellandra steel herself, pulling the curtain down across her emotions as she squares her shoulders and ascends the steps with Cassandra, he watches her as she avoids his gaze, flinching ever so slightly away from him as he steps up to her left.

As Cassandra speaks, declaring the Inquisition’s intent, Cullen watches her closely from the corner of his eye. Josephine had told him about her whilst she was asleep, briefing him on some of the things she and Leliana had found out about the woman.

Josephine had said she was the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick, a hugely devout family from the Free Marches. Looking at her now, he knew it to be true without a doubt. She stands with her hands clasped gently in front of her, her head held high and steady on her slender neck, eyes staring resolutely ahead with a demure smile gracing her lips.

She stands like nobility, he’d seen it before when the Hero of Ferelden had walked into Kinloch Hold, the regal way she held herself, her eyes flashing as if she knew every secret and yet would never give you an answer. The Lady Trevelyan had been trained the exact same way, raised since birth to hold herself against the oncoming tide of society and push it back without blinking.

That had been before her magic manifested, Josephine had said. Cullen had felt overwhelming anger and slight grief when Josephine had told him the story the family had told. Apparently their ‘beloved’ daughter was off on a long pilgrimage of faith, sent to the cloisters of the world to be trained and enlightened.

A cover story to hide their apparent shame.

He sneaks a glance at her again, seeing the unwavering strength in her eyes, the deep strike of the scar across her jawbone and neck. He find himself absolutely enamoured, entranced by the mystery she presents. He wants to know her, to know what she had fought through to be awarded such strength as the one he saw in her, to have her speak with such conviction and anger against things that had wronged her.

He vows to show her that not all people fear what her parents fear, that he and the others of the Inquisition will not shove her away to hide like they had done to her.

v.

The fifth time he sees her, she enters the war room like a summer storm, her eyes like lightning and her words brutal waves that crash over them. She’d vowed to help Cassandra put an end to the breach and find who had caused it, but it didn’t mean that she had to sit and play nice with those she didn’t trust.

Those she didn’t trust being him and Leliana.

She avoids his gaze unforgivingly, and when he asks what she feels about being named the Herald of Andraste she bristles, before she answers him stoically, eyes blank as she tells him its of little consequence to her or to their mission here.

Leliana throws him a wry grin at his surprised expression, but even she is surprised when the mage snaps at their spymaster, so untrusting of those around her that she would assume a summons from a chantry sister to be a trap.

Leliana works to put her mind at ease, and Cullen knows she has known this kind of resolute desire to cut oneself off from the world around her. First in the Lady Cousland, then in himself after he’d left Kirkwall.

She eventually calms, and begins to ask Josephine of the area and those stationed here. He barely keeps up with the conversation, studying her instead. Her hair is once again pulled back into that severe bun, pulled away from her porcelain skin with a thick length of bright red ribbon. He wonders about the story behind it, about the way her hand unconsciously flutters towards her throat when the subject of Red Templars comes up.

He watches as her fingers rub against her marked palm, hidden by a thick leather glove, the fingers removed to just hide the soft glow of the mark. “Does it cause you pain?” he blurts out without thinking, and when he realises what he’s done, he blushes crimson, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck.

It’s silent for more than a few heartbeats, before her quiet, lilting accent crests across the war table towards him. “Sometimes, if I’m not paying attention.” She whispers. His eyes rise to meet hers, the blue no longer harsh and icy, but muted, softer somehow as she gazes across the room at him.

He cannot for the life of him place the expression on her features.

vi.

The sixth time he sees her, it’s because her bubbling laugh draws his attention. At first he wonders who the musical sound belongs to, the notes cresting as there’s a grunt from where Cassandra’s training dummies stand.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he walks casually, hands behind his back as if he’s inspecting the troop’s movements, calling out pointers every so often before he reaches Cassandra’s side of the tents.

His mouth nearly drops in surprise. She’s standing, cheeks pink with exertion as she grips her staff tightly, knuckles white against the dark oak of the staff. Her eyes are alight with glee as Cassandra rounds on her again; her sword whirling in the morning sun as they meet in what should have been a clash of blades.

Instead, Ellandra jumps through the fade, a bright rush of energy as blue as her eyes, a ghostly giggle lingering where she had been standing. Cassandra growls as she stumbles, lashing out at where Ellandra should have been, and then turning to meet her sparkling eyes from near the Smithy.

Cullen hides his smirk in his fur pauldrons as Cassandra calls out to her. “You cannot win your battles by dancing away Herald!” He hears the musical laughter again, his heart clenching almost painfully as she grins, showing her teeth as her eyes crinkle, revealing laughter lines from a time long past.

“I can try Cassandra!” She calls back, her accent music to his ears. Cassandra makes a disgusted noise, rolling her eyes as Ellandra bounces on the balls of her feet, wiggling her fingers at the Seeker, lightning jumping between them.

Cullen marvels at her skills as they face off properly, her barrier deflecting Cassandra’s shield strike as she lashes out with lightning, only just missing Cassandra by a hair, a move he thinks is on purpose. By the time they’re finished, both are panting and dripping with sweat, Ellandra laughing as Cassandra throws away her shield, wiping her forehead.

Cullen marvels at the change in the Herald, the bright expression and the way her eyes light up when she laughs, he finally gets a glimpse as to what she would have been like before she had closed down, before whatever happened to make her so outwardly cold and unforgiving.

He feels pained that it was not him to elicit that emotion from her.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's feelings for Trevelyan begin to grow

Vii

The seventh time he sees her, it’s a bright flash of auburn out of the corner of his eyes, and the twinkle of ice in the midmorning sun. He has one had pressed to a Templar’s chest, the other to a mages as they argue, and yet he cannot take his eyes off her.

The arguing boils up again, and he shoves the two back, ordering them to stop. He flinches when the Templar uses his old title, trying to ignore the lance of earthshattering fear and guilt that strikes his gut.

“Enough!” He cries, more than exasperated with the two groups. “We are not Templars any longer. We are all part of the Inquisition.” He growls, prodding a finger into the breast plate of the man before him. His eyes flick towards Ellandra, who stands with her arms crossed – guarded but curious.

A long eyebrow is cocked, her lips pursed as she scans his eyes, watching for some hint of deceit. He knows she’s been distrustful of him from the very beginning, of his past as a Templar. Leliana had refused to elaborate, but she had told him she’d suffered far worse than any mage had in a Circle before.

His eyes slip closed with a groan as he hears the achingly familiar voice of Chancellor Roderick.

He palms off the Chancellor’s words quickly, jumping slightly when the sweet voice of their Herald rises up from beside him. He draws in a silent breath as she moves to stand beside him, her arms crossed and body so close he feels her shoulder brush his every time she inhales.

Roderick’s eyes narrow at the arrival of the Herald, but he takes a guarded step back when her eyes turn cold, raking over his feeble form with an eyebrow raised. “Remind me why we keep him around again?” she laughs quirking an eyebrow as she turns to him with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

His heart leaps into his throat at the sight of her. To see her laughing and smiling at one of her companions was a lovely sight, and one that he saw often. But for far too long he’d only been on the receiving end of glares and harsh words, to see her eyes sparkling and the dimple on her right cheek pulling as she smiles at him causes his legs to shake.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight.

“He’s harmless.” Cullen laughs back, cocking his head towards her as he looks back to Roderick. “He’s all bark and no bite.” Roderick visibly bristles, cheeks turning red as he readies himself to argue. Cullen raises an eyebrow mockingly at him, crossing his arms as Ellandra chuckles.

Roderick merely scoffs and turns, stalking away from a giggling Herald and her enchanted Commander.

She turns to him quickly as Roderick stalks away, looking up at him curiously, he turns to face her, opening his mouth to question her when her soft words cut through him.

“What you said about not being a Templar anymore…” she pauses, biting down on her lip as she twists her hands. He wants to reach out and still them, feel the warmth of her fingertips against his own. The urge is so strong his hand twitches towards hers, but he reigns himself in, watching her carefully.

“Did you mean it?” She asks, looking back up at him hopefully. A grin caresses his face despite himself, his heart pounding urgently against his chest as he watches her wide eyes. He cant help but step closer to her, watching pink touch her cheeks at the feeling of him standing so close.

“I did. I don’t want anything to do with that life anymore.” He whispers, truth shining in his eyes as she looks up at him, brushing away a stray curl that had moved to cover her eye. Her answering smile is coy, curiously watching him as she nods slightly and turns, walking towards the Chantry.

She glances back over her shoulder at him, eyes glittering as she smirks. “Are you coming or not Commander?” she asks, before turning to enter the Chantry, gliding through the halls like a Queen.

“Maker’s breath.” He sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

viii.

The eighth time he sees her, his heart is stuck in his throat, watching as she pulls off the leather glove she keeps on her marked hand with her teeth, a look of grim determination etched into the lines of her face.

He watches in silent terror as she turns to the mages, drawing upon their strength as she faces the Breach, her trembling fingers curling into fists to hide her fear. He wants to reach out to her, to hold her against the rushing tide of destruction and duty they had forced her upon, throwing her into the line of fire again and again, watching as she breaks herself on the back of Corypheus and his army.

She grits her teeth as she stalks closer, raising her hand towards the Breach. He winces at the loud crash of her mark drawing upon the Breach, eyes widening at the emerald lines that crashed headfirst into the tear in the Fade.

Her body shakes as she plants her feet, her shoulders rigid as she fights against the oncoming storm of the Breach, its unrestrained power crashing through her body like lightning, picking apart her body and reforming it as she grits her teeth and screams against the pain.

He feels Leliana’s hand shoot out to restrain him as he unconsciously takes a step forward, wanting more than anything to help her carry this burden. He watches as she lets out a cry, yanking her hand back as a bright streak of emerald lightning crashes through the sky, before she collapses, panting harshly.

He makes to move towards her, to help her stand, but stops immediately when Cassandra rushes to her, laughing as she pulls Ellandra to her feet. She pauses, eyes looking up slowly to meet the sky.

Cullen follows her eyes, looking to the sky in wonder. The Breach was gone, the tear in the sky pulled closed as if she’d sewn it together with the stars as her needle and thread. The bright lines of aqua and emerald woven together in the sky remind him of her eyes and the mark upon her hand.

He looks back down to see her standing without the aid of Cassandra, still breathing heavily but smiling breathlessly as those around her cheer. The bright lights of the sky seem to caress her as she steps forward, clenching her marked hand.

She truly was the Herald of Andraste in that moment.

ix.

The ninth time he sees her, it is a shadow in the pure white wasteland, her silhouette barely visible against the frozen waste before him. His heart leaps in his chest as he takes off running, his voice calling out to Cassandra as he sprints, tearing off his coat as he does.

He lands in the snow next to her, the leathers shrouding his knees freezing through almost instantly. His hands clasp her cheeks, revelling in the feeling of her skin against his, but it is with horror when he realises just how frozen she truly is.

He cannot help himself as he breathes, “I thought I lost you.” Her answering smile is muggy, as if she’s moving through treacle to manipulate her face muscles. She’s not trembling, which pulls a shock of fear from him, surely if she’d forced herself through this weather she’d be shivering.

“Did I make it?” she manages to whisper, her teeth chattering as he wraps his cloak around her shoulders, leaning over to scoop her up into his arms. Her fingers automatically latch onto his tunic, her nose burrowing deep into his warmth.

“Yes.” He whispers, “You made it.” He hunches his shoulders over to shield her from the frigid winds that whip across his cheeks, his eyes stinging as he trudges through the snow, back to a shuddering Cassandra.

He cannot help but revel in the way she feels in his arms, her frosted nose pressed into the crook of his neck, her fingers clenching and unclenching around his tunic as he walks. Even after her walk and battle, she still smells divine, like the forest after a rainstorm, and something tangy, spiced. He smiles when he realises its her magic.

An excruciating shudder wracks her body, she whimpers curling into his chest further as she moans against the pain. He feels his heart clench painfully, and he steps faster, his legs burning as he pushes through the snow, pulling her tighter against his chest as he walks.

“Maker, just hold on.” He whispers, letting out a relieved breath when the flickering lights of the camp come into view. She lets out another whimper; even her breath against his neck is freezing, cooling his skin as he jogs into camp.

There are cries of relief when her auburn hair comes into view, her form crumpled and littered with scrapes and bruises, but she’s alive, and that’s all that mattered in her eyes. She was a miracle at work, given to them by the grace of the Maker.

Time and time again he had sent her forth into danger, and time and time again she had come back. He had never felt fear like when he had seen the avalanche sweep through Haven, burrowing her under the frosted layers of snow.

Healers rush to him, but he refuses to let her go, bringing her to one of the cots and setting her down as Bull drags it closer to the fire. Her eyes race behind closed eyes as the healers get to work, covering her with blankets as Solas kneels beside her, his hands glowing as he hovers over her body, warming her from the inside.

She burrows deeper into his coat, refusing to let it go even as she sleeps, the healers have given up on trying to take it from her, but he doesn’t care, he can’t think about anything other than the fact that she’s alive, and that she might not have been taken from him if he hadn’t of sent her to her doom.

“Cullen…” she breathes, her fingers clenching as her head tosses. His heart leaps up into his chest, a blush winding its way up his neck and to his cheeks at her call for him. Solas barely glances up with a raised eyebrow, questioning her words but didn’t say anything on the subject. “Cullen.” She calls out for him again as another shudder wracks her body, her chest curling forward in pain as she thaws out, a whimper meeting his ears.

Despite the blush staining his ears, he kneels down, taking off his gloves to take one of her cold hands in his warm ones. She visibly relaxes at the feeling of his hands around hers, but he tells himself it is just the warmth of his hands.

He sighs, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart as he scans her features, thanking the Maker for bringing her back under his breath. He reaches down to pull the blankets higher around her with one hand, tucking them around her small frame.

She rolls towards him, her hand clenching tightly around his as she does. She snuggles deeper down into the fur of his coat, smiling gently in her sleep as he smooths back a lock of her hair, brushing it behind her ear.

He had to force himself to not lean down and press his lips to her forehead.


	4. Chapter 4

ix. 

 

The ninth time he sees her, she's bathed in the golden low of the late afternoon, the sunlight caressing the long auburn strands of her hair with such gentle touches he was almost sure she was Andraste herself. He watches, enraptured as she climbs the staircase towards Leliana, long legs stretching as her ice blue eyes watch cautiously as Leliana turns to her, sword outstretched in her long fingers. 

 

He stares in wonder as Leliana holds the sword out to her, sees Cassandra ask her to take up the mantle, to become in title and name what she already had been to them from the beginning. She was a uniting force, the factor that had allowed their victories, their gains and the rapid expansion of the Inquisition. She had given everything that she had to the Inquisition and more, had let her life blood seep into the frigid snow of the Frostbacks, had broken herself against a Darkspawn magister and lived. 

 

She was a miracle, a brilliant swath of light in an otherwise dark world. 

 

He notices her hesitation, the way her fingers tremble at her sides as she looks up to Leliana, then to Cassandra. Her eyes ask them, plead with them to tell her. _You're sure you want this? Want me to do this?_ His heart clenches as he reads her lips, hears her ask if its wise to hold a mage up as the leader of a world power. 

 

He couldn't imagine anyone better suited to lead, nor anyone he would rather follow into oblivion. Many were following the mark on her hand, her unwavering faith in the Maker and in His plan. 

 

Cullen, however, followed the bright auburn of her hair, the way it curls around her temples and ears, unwilling to remain in place. He follows the frozen lake of her eyes, the way her eyelashes curl, dark feathers fluttering against the wind as she pushes them further towards Skyhold, towards salvation. 

 

He follows the steady set of her shoulders, the way she stops the trembling of her fingers as she curls them around the hilt of the sword, the slight widening of her eyes at the unfamiliar weight of a sword in her hand. 

 

She turns to him when Cassandra calls out, asking him if he believed the Inquisition will follow. A blinding grin splits across his features as he turns his golden eyes towards her, trying to reassure her with a single glance. Her eyes seem to melt, darker blue lancing through her eyes, softening the harshness of the almost white colour there before. 

 

He turns to their people. _Her people_. He calls to them, beckoning them to rise up in support of their saviour. "Inquisition! Will you fight?" _To the death_. "Will you follow?" _To the ends of the Earth_. He tries to hide his smile at their roar of approval, drawing his sword to point towards the woman who had saved them all. 

 

"Your Inquisitor!" He calls, watching in awe as she grasps the sword tighter, her fingers curling around the hilt as it had all those days ago in the frozen wasteland of Haven, pointing it towards the towering frame of an ages old Darkspawn. 

 

Now her fingers curl in anticipation, in solidarity, her pointing the sword skyward is acceptance, her eyes a promise, not only to the Inquisiton, but to Corypheus. 

 

_We are coming for you._

 

x. 

 

The tenth time he sees her, it is a crimson stain across her porcelain cheeks, her twisting fingers curling around one another as she smiles up at him shyly. He had turned at the soft calling of her voice, the way she’d crooned his name as if a prayer, her eyes raising to meet his before darting away, the blush gracing her skin pooling higher until her cheeks were red. 

 

He watches her plump lips curling around her words, notices the trembling of her bottom lip as she stutters, before she manages, with her usual sarcasm and smirk, to tell him that he’s working far too hard. He smiles back slightly, his eyes sparkling when she blushes harder and hugs her arm to herself. 

 

He notices the way she winces slightly whenever he calls her ‘Inquisitor’ her eyes fluttering as if someone had raised a hand to strike her. She tells him it sounds strange, to be called Inquisitor, asks him if he believes it to be also. He smiles, glancing down at his booted feet before looking back up at her. 

 

“Not at all.” He replies, watching as her eyes widen a fraction, her fingers jumping in shock at his words. He means what he said with all his heart, the people of Skyhold had rallied to her, she had been able to pull them together like no other, uniting them under one cause, one banner. 

 

She seems such a mystery, so unique and utterly magnificent in her form. She confuses him, _confounds_ him with every word, every shy glance she steals across the war table, every harsh whip of her anger when she’s spoken back to, her soft touches as she comforts a weeping child in the middle of the snow. 

 

He remembers her sweet voice, crooning a soft lullaby to a small boy who’d lost his parents, hoisting him up to rest against her hip, hiding her wince of pain as his leg brushes her injuries. He’d felt himself fall deeper into her at the sight, watching as she laughs and tickles him as her ethereal voice rises up in song. 

 

“Thank you Cullen.” She whispers, clumsily brushing back stray curls from her eyes as she bites down on her lip, shuffling back and forth. She makes to turn, but he sees the courage well up in her quickly as she turns, the ice in her eyes dancing as she faces him. “Our escape from Haven… it was close. I’m glad that you -“ She stops, her eyes glancing up at him in shock as she quickly corrects herself. “That, so _many_ made it out.” She rubs her shoulder, hugging her arms tight to her body as she blushes, biting down on her lip. 

 

His heart leaps into his throat, blood rushing through his veins as if touched by starlight, the feeling of _hope_ coursing through him, as light as air as his eyes rake over her features. Could he dare to even dream that _she,_ a tempest shrouded in flesh, the personification of pure beauty before him, could feel as he felt for her?

 

He jumps forward when she turns, her eyes downcast and sullen, and he immediately realises his mistake. “You… stayed behind, you could have-“ He cuts himself off at the pain of it cuts through him, white hot and pulsing against his skin as he thinks of the terror that had seized his body as the trebuchet was fired. 

 

The pure white of the snow, crashing down the cragged slope of the mountain, hurtling towards her body. There was no time, _no time_ , she wouldn’t make it, a hand outstretched, the cry of her name hurtling through him, only restrained by his lips as it hits the tip of his tongue. 

 

Pure terror as her auburn locks are buried, buried beneath layers of ice cold snow. 

 

“I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again.” He promises, his words solid, safe. He wishes to protect her above all things, to never feel terror for her life as he felt then. 

 

xi. 

 

The eleventh time he sees her, she’s dressed as he’s never seen her before, and his face heats straight away. He feels Dorian’s self satisfied smirk burning into the side of his form, but he cannot bring himself to care, he cannot think of anything besides the pounding of his heart in his ears and the way the deep blue of her dress brings out the red in her hair. 

 

When she sits before him, he feels as if he’s in a dream, the way her curls drape past her ribs, small braids scattered throughout the tight ringlets like small secrets, hidden carefully and gently. Her soft smile and rosy cheeks are intoxicating, and he feels himself drink her in, drunk on nothing more than her presence, her soft words as she laughs and tells him she hasn’t played chess in years. 

 

He smirks as he sets up the pieces, his heart leaping when her hand brushes his as she rights a piece. She throws him a soft smile, her eyes void of their usual cautious and guarded glances. She lights up when he speaks of his family, laughing at the thought of his sisters smug grins and his brothers cheers when they finally win against her. 

 

He feels his heart sink when in a moment of carelessness, he asks about her family. A soft, faraway look graces her features, her eyes turning mournful as she reaches up, almost without thinking, to touch the deep scar that runs from the corner of her lip to her cheekbone. 

 

He apologises profusely after she tells him she hasn’t seen them since she was taken away to the Circle, but she reaches forward and lays her hands softly over his. Her magic jumps between them, as it did the first time they’d touched, but this time she doesn’t recoil in fear and disgust, this time she smiles, quiet and sure of herself as he blushes and smiles back at her. 

 

The familiar look graces her eyes, the deep soulful glances that told of secrets unknown, answers that men spent their whole lives looking for, never to find, and she looked at him as if she knew them all, begging him to reach out and ask for them. 

 

He plays poorly, stretching out their game if only to hear the lilting sound of her accent and the soft, musical notes of each giggle that spills from her lips at stories of his siblings. They spend what feels like hours in the gardens, so entirely wrapped up in one another that the rest of the world falls away, until they’re twined together, their blushes matching as they steal glances at each other from underneath thick eyelashes, blushing harder when one’s caught. 

 

He agrees straight away when she asks him to teach her how to play better, telling him to meet her here at the same time, and with a lingering touch to his arm, she’s gone in a breeze of curls, burnt red by the sunset and the deep sea of her dress floating behind her as she walks through the garden, laughing as several of the children rush to her. 

 

He cannot for the life of him take her eyes off her, standing like a fool as he feels his heart pound restlessly in his chest, watching as she turns back to him with a demure glance and a knowing smile. 

 

 _Maker take him_. 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Part 5

xiii.

The thirteenth time he sees her, his heart leaps into his throat desperately, his jaw popping open as he watches her descend the staircase, her arm tucked neatly into Dorian’s. His heart pounds against his breastbone, wanting nothing more than to break free of his chest and rush to her. He’d always known she was beautiful, but Maker.

She steps onto the marbled tiles with a flurry of skirts, smiling demurely at the Orlesian nobles around her that clamber for her attention. She’d saved the Empress’ life and become the darling of the Orlesian court all in the same night; she was absolutely enchanting, even if it had been in dress armor.

He realises now that this had been Leliana’s plan all along, watching as the red head beams at Ellandra, smoothing down her skirts and fixing the long auburn twists of her hair.

Cullen’s breath has long been stolen from his throat, his eyes raking over every inch of her form, trying to commit this image to his memory. Her gown is breathtaking, made of deep crimson velveteen that makes her eyes dance like starlight when she moves. It’s cut deep at the front, and he blushes deeply at the porcelain skin revealed to him against the crimson gown.

Her shoulders are held high, the golden pauldrons fixed to her dress tinkling as she moves, and he immediately notices the bright golden chains, fixed with diamonds that twinkle at him when she moves. She turns to face an oncoming noble with a charming smile, and his blush deepens considerably when he sees her bare back, the golden chains hanging low and brushing the line of her backside.

He knows she can see the nobles whispering about her scarred back, she’d shown him after they’d arrived at Skyhold, when he’d told her what he’d suffered through in Kinloch hold – it had been the first time she’d let him hold her. The Templars had put her through so much, and yet here she stood, with a presence that spoke of nobility, of the power that she held over them all, with a gesture of a hand she could have nations at her feet.

The very notion set his blood on fire.

Cullen watches at the light of the chandeliers play off her deep auburn locks, pulled into a crown of braids atop her head, loving the way the scar on her cheek and lip pulls when she smiles, the delicate brush of her eyelashes across her high cheekbones. Her eyes sweep the floor until they land on him, his heart leaping in his chest as her ice meets his molten amber, and he’s moving towards her without a second thought, trying not to focus on the way her hips sway back and forth as she glides towards him.

He stops before her, positively breathless as she looks up at him, a small smirk ghosting upon the corners of her lips when he reaches out to brush his fingers against hers. She tilts her head questioningly at him, eyes dancing when he coughs, biting down on his lip as he pulls away to rub the back of his neck.

His heart hammers in his chest, his blood rushing through his veins so fast he thought he’d faint. She stood not centimeters before him, and yet the words he so desperately wished to say held on the tip of his tongue, dancing out of reach every time he opened his mouth to speak. He was sure she thought him insane, shuffling his feet back and forth as he tries frantically to conjure the words to his lips. 

Her eyes flutter slightly when he takes a deep breath and moves to entwine their fingers, brushing his other hand up the delicate, swan like curve of her neck. He leans closer, brushing his lips against her ear, smiling when he hears her sharp intake of breath, her chest brushing against his own as she does.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, my lady.” He whispers, pulling back so achingly slowly he thought he’d burst. A fine pink blush has brushed across her cheeks, her lips plump and cherry red from her worrying at her bottom lip, she’s absolutely enchanting, so agonisingly beautiful, he wanted nothing more than to steal her away, to take time to worship every inch of her frame with a reverence he was sure one could only afford to Andraste herself.

The rest of his life wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his need to be with her.

Her fingers lace tighter with his, and before he can react, she’s pulling him away towards the gilded staircase, letting go of a deep breath as the cool air rushes against her cheeks. He watches, completely enraptures as she smiles breathlessly, breathing in deep as the air brushes back the curls loose around her temples back.

Maker he was a fool for her, he worshipped her so completely, unable to take his eyes away from her, even as she steps forward to plant her thin fingers against the cool stone of the bannister. He steps up beside her, brushing a hand against the bare skin of her back.

She doesn’t even flinch, not like she did before when he had reached to touch the horrific whip scars slashed across her back. He notes, with a broad grin, that she trusts him, allows him to touch her where she feels most vulnerable, to witness the acts committed against her and tell her that he doesn’t care, that the scars make her all the more beautiful.

“You did so wonderfully tonight.” He whispers, stepping up beside her to press a lingering kiss to her temple. She hums happily, before she turns into him, threading her arms around his waist as she lays her head down against his chest, listening to the nervous beating of his heart.

She smiles when he tucks his hands around her, pulling her closer against him with a smile, before he nestles his cheek into her hair, breathing deeply when he smells the strawberry and spiced scent that is her.

“Thank you.” She whispers. He doesn’t have to ask to know she doesn’t mean it about his compliment.

xiv.

The fourteenth time he sees her it is through a haze of Lyrium withdrawal. His head pounding a frantic tattoo into the back of his skull, flaring up every time he so much as moves his eyes slightly. His skin crawls with every movement, thousands of tiny pinpricks burrowing deep under his flesh as he moves, panting against the jolting pains of his withdrawal.

His eyes are solely focused on the box before him, unable to tear himself away from the cerulean glow of the lyrium encased in the small bottle. The familiar instruments are nestled in crimson velveteen, carved so delicately, painstakingly crafted to perfection.

He runs his eyes over the velveteen again, the deep crimson burning against the back of his mind. But this time another vision of a crimson velveteen rises to his eyes, this time wrapped around pure ivory skin, eyes like starlight shimmering at dusk, afternoon light reflected off of bright auburn hair.

He casts an angry glare back down towards the box; he won’t allow himself to sink this low, to give less than he did to the chantry. For her he has to be strong, and if being strong mean –

Cullen lashes out, swiping the box off of his desk with an angry yell, his features contorting in rage as the pain in his skull flares up again. He hears a quiet yelp, his eyes snapping up to meet ones made of ice, widened in shock as she looks down to the spilled contents on the floor.

“Inquisitor!” He stands up straight, desperately trying not to groan as the pain in his head causes the world around him to tilt and whirl. “I didn’t see you standing there… I apologise.” He whispers, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He didn’t wish for her to see him like this, even more, he didn’t wish for her to grow weary of his troubles, to find his symptoms unsavory and unworthy of her time.

She smiles gently, turning around to close the door behind her. She makes no noise as she turns, crouching down to grasp the overturned box, carefully and quietly placing the instruments back into their respective places. He watches, confused as she stand and smiles, leaning up on her toes to place the box up on the highest rung of the bookshelf.

Ellandra turns back to him, stepping closer to him to take his hand. “Cassandra told me.” She murmurs, running her fingers along the back of his palm. He sighs, feeling embarrassment and shame colour his cheeks. He makes to step away from her, already knowing what she’s going to say, that she’s going to leave.

She holds him fast, squeezing his hand deftly. “I think it’s admirable.” She whispers, looking up at him. Her eyes meet his, and his breath is stolen from him, snatched away by the pride and respect in her eyes.

“You… you do?” he whispers, trying to hold back the wide grin threatening to break out across his features. She blinks up at him, before she’s chuckling, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. He blushes deeply, feeling his heart ache when she bites down on her lip and nods.

She reaches up when he winces at another throb of pain from his head, her fingers smoothing the lines of his forehead. Without another word she pulls him to sit, ignoring his protests as she comes to stand behind him, shushing him with another peck to the cheek.

“Do…” she pauses, drawing in a shaky breath as she lays her hands down against the mantle around his shoulders. “Do you trust me to use my magic?” Her voice is shaky, so unsure of herself he feels himself physically ache at the pain that lances through him at the sound of her like that.

He grasps one of her hands, pulling it forward so he can press gentle kisses to her fingertips, before lingering on her palm. “Of course I do.” He whispers truthfully, smiling when she lets out a sigh of relief.

He almost moans in relief when her now icy fingers touch his forehead, kneading small circles against his temples, before she moves to press her fingers through his hair, bringing him relief from the pounding headaches for the first time in months.

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore.” She whispers, her voice small and soft, so incredibly comforting and patient as he sighs, pushing himself further into her deft fingers, trying to fight away the blush that seems to permanently stain his cheeks when she’s with him.

“Thank you.” Is all he manages to whisper through the emotion clogging his throat.

xv.

The fifteenth time he sees her, he’s looking at her with pure wonder, his lips curled up into a grin as he holds her close, feeling her hands clutching at his waist when he leans down to gently press his lips to hers again.

She asks if he has some time, coming through his office as she did nearly every day. His heart picks up instantly as they walk across the battlements, him screaming at himself to just say something, something to not make him seem like a bumbling fool of a man.

She’s stammering, a rosy blush tinting her cheeks as she rushes through her words, stuttering and leaping through her phrases in an uncharacteristic show of embarrassment.

“Cullen I care for you and I-“She cuts herself off with a heavy sigh, her eyes downcast as she hugs her arms to herself, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “Could you… care for a mage?” She whispers, her voice trembling.

He feels his heart nearly burst out of his chest with elation, barely held there by sheer willpower and absolute shock as he rakes his eyes over her features, searching for the lie and grinning broadly when he finds none.

Did he dare to hope for once? To think that she could feel as he felt, to actually have her, be able to hold her as his own and keep her protected from the world. It seemed too good to be true, maker don’t let him wake up in his bed.

“I could!” His voice is loud, too overeager, and he curses himself immediately. “I-I mean I do, think about it… and what I might say in this sort of situation.” He whispers, running a hand over his forehead, as he wracks his brain to think of the right words to say. He wanted this to be perfect, for everything to go perfectly.

He decides to tell her the truth. “But you’re the Inquisitor, and we’re at war… I didn’t think it was possible.” He whispers, stepping closer to her, drunk on her mere presence as he feels her breath brush over his cheeks.

“I’m still here aren’t I?” She whispers back, hands fluttering delicately at her sides as he grins and leans in closer, their lips almost brushing as her eyes close.

“It seems too much to ask… but I wan-“He’s cut off by the door to his office slamming open, then the heavy steps of a very familiar scout. He growls when Jim calls for him, the idiot prattling on about a report. 

“WHAT!” He growls, deep in his throat as he steps back from Ellandra, noting the blush colouring her cheeks as she awkwardly bounces against the wall, searching for something to do with her hands.

Jim looks up at him frightfully, looking from him to Ellandra, then back again as a wide eyed look of recognition sweeps of his features. He tells Cullen he’ll bring it to his office and hurries away, looking more frightened than he ever had before, which makes Cullen feel slightly better.

“If you need to-“He cuts her off with a growl, turning back to her and slamming his lips to hers. She gives a muffled noise of surprise, and then she’s kissing him back, sighing as his arms slide around her, very nearly crushing him to her body.

Cullen didn’t think it was possible for anyone’s lips to feel this perfect against his own. She tastes like sunshine, bursting against him as he moves against her, sighing into her mouth as she moves closer.

His heart feels as if it’s about to fly from his chest, his body lighter than air as pure content and joy rockets throughout his system. It was unbelievable that someone could feel this right beneath his hands. That her body could fit so perfectly against him, molding to the lines of one another’s body as easy as breathing.

He pulls away, absolutely breathless as his eyes open to see her grinning up at him, her shoulders shaking as she laughs. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, but they both know he’s lying. “That was… really nice.” He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. It didn’t seem real, that this woman, their Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, one of the most talented and beautiful women he’d ever met could care as he did for him.

Her lips curl up into her trademark smirk, the scar on her cheek pulling as she does. “That.” She whispers, reaching up to twine her fingers into his hair, bringing him down so their lips brushed one another’s again. “Was what I wanted.”

He smirks, his hands tightening around her waist as he pulls her closer against him. “Oh… good.” He whispers, before he bends down to bring their lips back together, nearly collapsing at the feeling of her lips against his.

It seemed like a damned dream, he was so frightened he was going to wake up, that this all would have been a dream, but one of the best he’d ever had. He decided if it was a dream, he was going to make the most of it.

He runs his tongue over her bottom lip, smiling against her mouth as she gasps, moaning as his tongue sweeps into her mouth, curling against her own as she seizes his hair tighter, sighing breathlessly into his mouth as she kisses him harder.

Maker, it was the best dream he’d ever had if it was one.


End file.
